An Unwelcome Visitor
by Boston Manor
Summary: The quiet and studied atmosphere of 221B is disturbed. Sleep - and patience - is short. Perhaps desperate measures are needed? One shot. Please R&R.


**Reading the canon it strikes me that something was missing from the life of one Mr Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps he really doesn't understand...**

**Usual disclaimers apply.**

**An Unwelcome Visitor**

I have had the pleasure of being acquainted with my good friend Mr Sherlock Holmes for many years. I have gained much amusement – whether to his knowledge or not I am unsure, although I suspect that he knows it – from his inability to refrain from commenting on many subjects; oftentimes, on anything that takes his fancy. His views on many subjects can be most forceful, and for those who do not know him well may appear indiscreet and even, on occasions, rude. Herein oft lies my amusement – the more animated about a subject, the more extreme can become some of his comments.

The performance of the local constabulary is often the subject of his conversation in this regard – most especially in that period following the said constabulary becoming involved in a particular investigation that he has been instrumental in starting. This is the juncture at which he tends to become most animated in explaining how things 'ought to be done', the necessity of clear method, and the lack of skill in those persons either missing or misinterpreting what to him is the most obvious of events, clues or other information.

However today, 14th May 1889, there was a singular occasion when he was seemingly unable to pass rational comment.

"Holmes," I was telling him, "there really is nothing to worry about. The situation is easily remedied."

Holmes fixed me with a stare which, if I was able to interpret its emotion, was one of quiet disbelief and, probably, sympathy.

"There is _everything_ to worry about." He stated each word with quite unnecessary clarity.

"Well, tell me why, then."

"It is the noise, Watson. I know you can work with assorted din, but I cannot."

"I don't think that's quite fair, Holmes," I replied. "I need not remind you that when you start that infernal scratching on your instrument, very few in this house get sleep. And thus you cannot complain, surely, if the noise you make evokes a similar reaction."

"Noise! Noise indeed!" exclaimed Holmes. "My violin is an exquisite instrument. You have heard of Stradivarius, I assume?"

"I know full well the parentage of the instrument, Holmes. It is a fine piece of work – although I think it was a little underhand of you that you only paid fifty and five shillings for it. You knew full well what it was. The dealer in Lowther Arcade has gone out of business, you know. I was walking there only the other afternoon. All boarded up."

Holmes snorted. "No more than he deserves, then. How can he make himself out to be a reputable dealer in musical instruments if he does not recognise such an exquisite piece when it comes to him?"

I was clearly not going to win, so I changed tack.

"It's not the instrument, Holmes. It's … the player."

Holmes looked at me in shock. I carried on, regardless. "It takes more than a fine instrument to make a fine player. I have never pretended that I could play it even though I see it every day, and handle it sometimes."

"You do – what?"

"Well, if it's in the way, I will move it. It often is in the way. Holmes, if it is such a fine instrument, why do you leave it lying around on the floor where it could be damaged?"

"I would ask that you do not disturb my goods, please." Holmes' voice was quite acidic. Perhaps it was time to make peace.

"Holmes, you are tired. You are fraught. You have two major issues at present, and they are combining to bring you to a state of nervous exhaustion. One at least must stop."

Holmes visibly brightened. "There! We have it! You have cut to the core of the matter, like the good doctor that you are. One must stop. Advise Mrs Hudson, please."

"I don't think it's that clear, Holmes. One is a product of the other. I think if the one you were in control of were to stop, then the whole issue would be resolved. I can't understand why you can't make the connection. You saw the reverse of our current issue clearly enough last year when we were finding the racehorse _Silver Blaze_."

"I cannot think without recourse to a little reflective music."

"Perhaps. But look what happens when you do. Great heavens, man, I actually slept on the floor of my surgery last night just to get the first sleep in three nights."

Holmes pondered this. "Is it really as bad as that?"

"Yes, it is. Look, you are a dear friend, and no-one, even the constabulary, could argue that you are the best of your generation in what you do – perhaps the best of any generation." Holmes flushed a little, and gave a slight nod. "But I do not understand why in this instance you cannot see the obvious solution. Stop the violin, and we all get some sleep – yourself included."

"When I am thinking, I do not need sleep. Thought is all the refreshment I need."

"You may be able to go without sleep, Holmes, but neither Mrs Hudson nor I have a similar ability. We are at breaking point. If nothing else, how long is this case to go on for?"

"It is in the hands of the constabulary at present. I have advised Gregson of three points of interest. Even he will not be able to overlook the obvious, and I am certain of a satisfactory resolution to the problem. However there is some minor uncertainty over two more points, and it is to these that I must give my consideration. Otherwise when the case comes to trial there may be sufficient grounds for a 'not guilty' verdict, and that would be catastrophic."

"So you are resolved, then? Nothing will change your mind?"

"I work in order, not chaos. I have my methods. I cannot break with them. If I were to do so, I would cease to be myself."

"Very deep, Holmes, but I ask again – for the love of your friends – please consider an alternative. Any alternative."

Holmes tried his best to change the subject. "Is Mrs Hudson well?"

I was having none of it. "Mrs Hudson is suffering, as am I, and I think you know it. She dropped the tray this morning coming up the stairs, she is so tired. _No sleep, you see_." I emphasised this point as if it would make an impact on my friend.

"She obviously needs a holiday."

"That's it! You have driven me to it, Holmes. I will take two rooms at Bertram's on Russell Street. Mrs Hudson and I will have some sleep. You can then be left in peace until you have resolved your inconsistencies."

Holmes seemed genuinely shocked. "But I have played before, and you have slept through it."

"Yes, but not both, Holmes! I can tune out one noise, but not two!"

"My playing is not a noise…"

I could feel the situation getting out of hand. At best we were now going round in circles. Both of us so tired, neither wanting to make the move to resolve the situation. But I knew it was to be me and our housekeeper. Holmes was not going to change.

"I am packing, Holmes. Send word when you are in a right frame of mind again."

Holmes seemed a little put out, but he quickly hid his feelings. "Very well. Expect word within two days."

He picked up the violin. "No, Holmes!" I exclaimed, but it was too late. The string made contact with the bow, and from the Mrs Hudson's rooms erupted a loud and angry barking as the dog she was looking after erupted into full voice.

"Hmm…" mused Holmes. "It's only when I play that it barks. I wonder why…?"

I packed my bags, and within minutes was speeding Mrs Hudson - and myself - to a few days' quiet rest.


End file.
